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“I didn’t,” Earl said through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed with anger.
“A name is needed if you want to know the results of the posse’s findings,” Sheriff Nolan said, smiling crookedly up at Earl, enjoying his fooling with the man. If the redhead was found, safe and sound, her father would be the last to know. Jed would take his turn with her before her father had a chance to even realize that she was alive. What he had planned for her would not paint a pretty picture.
She was worse than the outlaw who had been set free from the prison. She was a whoring seductress who had made a fool out of him. And no woman made a jackass out of Sheriff Jed Nolan and lived to tell it, he thought darkly to himself.
Earl wasn’t quick to respond to the sheriff’s command, seeing too much about the man that did not ring true. He seemed an untrustworthy sort. Earl was amazed that such a man had been elected to be sheriff.
Yet too often in bawdy seaport towns, these were the kind of men in power that he had run into. And he had no choice but to trust that this lawman would do right by his daughter.
“My daughter’s name is Elizabeth,” Earl said, his voice guarded. “Elizabeth Easton.” He reached a hand to the sheriff. “I’m new in town. I’m establishing a fishery down the Sound a mile or two. At the old Pike Mansion. I’m sure you’ve heard about it. I’m Earl Easton.”
Before accepting Earl’s handshake, Sheriff Nolan turned to the spittoon and spat out another long stream of juice.
He wiped his mouth and mustache on the back of his right hand, then offered it to Earl. “Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said, chuckling beneath his breath when he saw Earl grimace as he took the hand with traces of tobacco juice on the fingers.
Earl wiped his hand on the leg of his pants, then glowered down at the sheriff. “I’ll be waitin’ to hear from you,” he warned. “If I don’t hear soon, I’ll take out after the damn outlaws myself.”
“That wouldn’t be wise,” Sheriff Nolan said, placing his fingertips together before him. “You’d just complicate things. Let the professionals do the job. You just get back to your fishery. I’ll send word as soon as I know.”
Hesitating, yet knowing that he was only one man and did not know the countryside as well as those who made a living hunting outlaws, Earl nodded and left the prison.
With a heavy heart, he mounted his stallion and headed back for home. His thoughts were on Elizabeth, and how it had been between them through the years—how he had been the one to hold back on love.
It was her mother’s fault. If Marilyn had not fled to parts unknown, Earl would not have had the need to reject his daughter.
He hung his head. He knew that he should hate his wife for having deserted him, yet he knew that he was the cause. Just as now, as he was the cause for his daughter’s life to be in peril.
Before he realized it, he was home. The miles had been eaten up while his mind had been absorbed by thoughts of the past and the future.
He gave his horse’s reins to Everett. Then he went inside the house, where he was met by an anxious Frannie.
“Elizabeth?” Frannie said, her eyes wide as she followed Earl toward the parlor. “Do you know any more about Elizabeth?”
Earl stopped and turned and gave her a watery stare. “As far as anyone can tell, she’s been abducted,” he said, his voice breaking.
Maysie stepped beside Frannie, just in time to hear the disheartening news. Her knees grew weak and she felt a desperation rising within her. Guilt pressed on her heart.
“No!” she cried, placing her hands to her cheeks, tears flooding her eyes. “Elizabeth has been abducted? No! Please, no! Oh, God, I’m to blame. If I’d never told Elizabeth about the women at the prison, she’d have not gone there! Who abducted her? Who?”
“Apparently the man who set the Indian free from prison,” Earl said. Then he took a step toward Maysie and glared down at her. “And, yes, young lady, you are to blame. If not for you, my daughter would be home now, safe!”
Maysie stared up at Earl with stricken eyes. Then she bolted up the steep staircase, wailing distraughtly.
Frannie went after her, also wailing.
Earl hung his head, and went into the parlor. He walked lifelessly to a window and drew the sheer curtain aside, staring into the trees.
His beloved daughter. Where was she?
He tried to distract himself from his anguish with other thoughts. He knew he must go back to the Suquamish Indian village. He had to convince them that what he offered was for their best interest, as well as his own.
“My fishery,” he muttered to himself.
He wondered how he could make plans for the future now, when he did not know if it would include his daughter?
He was ridden with guilt for having neglected her.
First his wife, and now his daughter.
